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I believe in miracles.

There was that morning last year when I went upstairs to find the towels in my teenagers' bathroom neatly folded over the rack and the dirty clothes piled carefully in the hamper.

It hasn't happened again, so I know it was a miracle. If that's not enough proof, there was also the time when my husband brought home flowers for no reason. It wasn't my birthday or our anniversary.

And how about when I was caller No. 4 to the radio station and won a new Calphalon poaching pan from Williams Sonoma? I've used hundreds of cell phone minutes since then and never made it through again. Surely that qualifies as a miracle.

But it's going to take a lot more convincing than that to get me to believe in the promise of miracle weight loss.

Since starting this column, I've been inundated with pyramid schemes, a free month's supply of pills, even an invitation to group therapy. I've been promised the chance to lose weight without any effort on my part.

It won't take exercise, self-discipline or self-denial. I can eat what I want. I can eat all I want. They lead me to believe that I can eat all day long and not move from the couch. If I will just try their product, I will see the fat melt right off my body like a pat of butter in a hot skillet.

Recently I sifted through my e-mail and concluded that one great incentive in many of the marketed diet plans was all the free stuff I'd get when I signed up. My favorite incentive has to be the handy-dandy starter kit. One kit included such products as a dieting journal, a special measuring tape with the diet company's logo and a plethora of inspirational reading.

A few years ago, I signed up with a dieting plan and spent the first week faithfully filling out my journal. I logged every tiny morsel that landed on my lips and wrote novel-length entries about my feelings during the process. But the writing made me tired, so I started snacking while I was writing. I even considered popping open a fresh cola to give me enough energy to get through a few more paragraphs.

I also had high hopes for the included free measuring tape in my starter kit. I thought it might magically melt the fat from my waist as I wrapped it around each morning.

But it didn't do anything special. Each morning, it took just as much tape to stretch around my waist. So now it's part of my sewing kit and does a very good job of making sure the pattern pieces are pinned correctly to the fabric.

The inspirational books were the best find in my starter kit. You're special; you're worth this. Sit at the table, use your best dishes and play soothing music while you eat. Remember that food is not bad.

The books were full of heart-warming thoughts and cuddly phrases.

Problem is, I spent so much time at the table reading these inspirational books while listening to the music, I ended up eating all of my daily food allotment before it was even time for lunch. And then I told myself I was special and worth a fresh batch of chocolate chips cookies.

In fact, I decided I was so special, I shouldn't be wasting even one day suffering through low calorie, poor-tasting diet food. I was worth real butter, whole milk and imported chocolate. Through those books, I learned to love myself. But it cost me another gain of 10 pounds.

My e-mail inbox is still filled with special offers for diet pills, energy shakes and special teas.

I'm too jaded to believe them anymore. I'm not interested in cutting entire food groups out of my diet, and I'm not letting someone poke a needle in me just to see what type of blood I have.

I'm past believing that I can actually lose weight without getting hungry sometimes, and I'm resigned to the fact that every single day I'm going to have to move faster and longer.

Sure, this little part of me keeps hoping for a miracle. I wake up and check to see if by some magical occurrence, I no longer need double-digit sized clothes. So far, it hasn't happened.

Eat less and exercise: that's my new miracle weight loss plan.

The miracle part? That I stick to it.